


Give Me Something To Pray To

by Malachite_Knightess



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25432744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malachite_Knightess/pseuds/Malachite_Knightess
Summary: Three times Ingrid met Mercedes in the Cathedral by chance, and one last time that she didn't.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 1
Kudos: 44





	Give Me Something To Pray To

**Author's Note:**

> This was for a little rarepair bang that i took part in! I hope you enjoy!!!! Featuring art done by @beargoofs on twitter!!!! https://twitter.com/beargoofs/status/1285720405756522497/photo/1

The first time that Ingrid goes to the Garreg Mach cathedral of her own volition, it’s after a particularly stress-inducing letter from her father. Another marriage proposal for her to consider, as though she was merely cattle, being sold off to guarantee her family’s livelihood. ‘ _ It is your duty,’ _ he had written,  _ ‘to use your time at the academy to find a spouse that will restore Galatea to its former glory.’ _

What a joke. And yet… There is a part of her that understood where he was coming from. He had struggled for her sake, shirking his own meals to ensure hers, spent restless nights by candlelight, searching for a solution to their poverty. Ingrid loves her father, and genuinely wants what is best for their family. She… just doesn’t know if marrying a rich noble to keep them alive is what will help them the most right now.

Training didn’t clear her head like it usually did. Food tasted lackluster and bland. She couldn’t even focus on her studies without the thought of the many proposals crawling into the back of her mind, like a spider skittering across a wall. It was annoying, and frankly, quite exhausting. So, Ingrid was trying something new.

She had never been particularly religious. She didn’t necessarily doubt the existence of the Goddess, per se, but she was no devout believer. She had been raised on the teachings of Seiros, as nearly all children were in the  _ Holy _ Kingdom of Faerghus, but these days, she had found little time to devote to attending sermons and praying.

The heels of Ingrid’s boots click audibly against the carved, painted stone, echoing in the wide, open room. A few priests mill about their daily duties, lighting candles, polishing statues… whatever else it was that they did. Many people had come to pray, and sat on the rows and rows of mahogany pews, heads bowed and hands clasped together. The sight fills her with a strange feeling, one that made her uneasy enough to quickly shift her vision elsewhere. 

Ingrid’s eyes turn to the forefront of the cathedral, and it’s there that she spots Mercedes. Her light blonde hair frames her face delicately, accentuating her features in a way that draws attention to the curve of her cheeks and the flutter of her eyelashes. Her hair shimmers beautifully in the afternoon light that streams through the ornate cathedral windows, glowing in a way that reminds Ingrid of the halos that Saints were said to have. 

Mercedes opens her eyes, a pretty, deep blue, like the sky on a perfect day, and glances at Ingrid. A knowing, sweet smile spreads across her lips. 

“My, Ingrid, did you come here just to look at the pretty girls praying? Perhaps Sylvain is rubbing off on you.” Ingrid feels her face heat, and her tone is indignant when she speaks.

“Absolutely  _ not _ ! I would  _ never… _ ” And yet, she technically just had been admiring a pretty girl in the cathedral, hadn’t she? Intentionally or not. She huffs, shaking her head. “It’s not what I came here for, anyhow. I’m just… a little lost, right now.”

“Oh?” Mercedes’ lips quirk up into a kind-hearted smile, and she takes Ingrid by the wrist, gently, but firmly. She leads her to a pew and sits her down, azure eyes glimmering with what Ingrid could only assume was platonic affection. “Please, tell me about what troubles you. If I cannot offer guidance, I know just how to ask the Goddess for you.”

Something about the sentiment puts Ingrid at ease. That Mercedes would ask a higher power to help Ingrid, to keep her safe and healthy and clear-headed. It makes her feel cared about, valued, in a strange way that she isn’t quite sure how to describe. Ingrid breathes in, willing herself to speak.

“My father. He… wrote me a letter about a proposal for me to consider. The man seems... if I’m being honest, it’s hard to distinguish any of these suitors from each other, if only for how bland they are. Some puffed-up noble from elsewhere in Fodlan, one with money to spare looking for a pretty thing to keep at his arm and do his bidding.” Ingrid scowls. “It’s just… so very  _ not _ what I want. I want to help my family, but I will not do it by making myself into a mindless doll for some  _ man _ to dote on.” She spits the word like poison, as though the entire gender has offended her. Not exactly, but she was hard-pressed to find a man that wasn’t totally undesirable. Hell, even the men she was friends with had something wrong with them. Sylvain was a philanderer. Felix was grouchy and cold. Dimitri… Well, that she wasn’t really sure about, but it gave her an odd feeling. Ashe was too boyish, though his love of knight’s tales was a plus. Dedue… was more interested in His Highness than just about anything else. 

Truth be told, she hadn’t truly  _ cared _ for anyone like that since Glenn. He was just as sharp as Felix, but his wit had less of an edge to it, it was more playful. He was good with a sword, and with his words, and had devotion to his cause and country. He was exemplary, a complete image of what a knight should look like. And then he was gone, before Ingrid even had time to think about what the rest of their lives together might have looked like. It stung, and not just because they were engaged. It was like an old, severe wound, one that could be ignored, but would act up from time to time and need to be treated. 

“My, that is awfully difficult, isn’t it?” Mercedes’ voice was pleasant, like bells jingling in a soft breeze, and it shook Ingrid from her thoughts. “Have you tried telling him that sort of thing isn’t what you want?” Ingrid nods solemnly. He never took the criticism to his idea that she should be married off very well. 

“He always deflects or reassures me that this is the right thing, or plays the ‘I’m your father, do what I say,’ card. It’s beyond frustrating. He has this idea that there is truly no other option, and it’s just… so shortsighted.” Ingrid sighs. 

Mercedes smiles reassuringly and puts a hand on her shoulder. She can feel the warmth of it through her uniform, and when she looks up, Mercedes’ soft gaze sets a light flush blazing across her cheeks like a flash-fire, if only for how lovely it looks on her. “Maybe he just needs time to adjust to the idea. Keep telling him that you want a different solution, a better one, and maybe he’ll come around eventually.” The idea is comforting, and maybe Mercedes is right. 

“Thank you.” The words leave her lips, nearly unbidden, and Ingrid smiles gratefully at Mercedes. “Truly, Mercedes, your words help put me at ease. Such comfort is hard to come by, and I appreciate it.” Mercedes nods, before lightly giggling, bringing her delicate hands up to her lips to cover them.

“You sound so formal. You can call me just Mercie, you know. And I would welcome you anytime. I think some tea and sweets shared with you sounds like a lovely time, and I would certainly like to get to know you better.”

“Mercie, then.” The nickname feels foreign on Ingrid’s lips, but not unwelcome. She could get used to calling her that. “I think that sounds wonderful.”

* * *

The next time they see each other in the cathedral is the night Edelgard declares war on the Church of Seiros. Ingrid and Mercedes have spent much more time together since that first meeting, and it’s been comfortable. They’ll share tea, Mercedes will bake, and Ingrid will ‘taste-test’ the batter, they’ve even spent time in the stables together, tending to the horses over a light, easy conversation. Mercedes is remarkably good at making Ingrid feel at ease, and it makes it all too tempting for Ingrid to slip careful glances out of the corner of her eye at Mercedes. The way she brushes her hair over her ear, the way her eyes sparkle with joy when she bakes or speaks about her brother, the way her lips quirk up ever so gently in a wanton, beautiful expression of joy, the way her laughter is like birdsong, pretty and natural. Ingrid is no fool, and is well aware of her blooming affection for Mercedes. However, she can’t bring herself to say anything. Maybe it’s due to the still-relentless flow of proposal offers, or maybe Ingrid is just scared to lose Mercedes as a friend if things were to turn sour. Not that she thinks they would part, even if Mercedes didn’t return her feelings, but fear is often irrational and loud, and Ingrid cannot find it in herself to ignore it.

When Ingrid enters the cathedral in the dead of evening, to the sound of chirping crickets beneath the pale light of the stars and the moon, she sees Mercedes there in the center of the room, and her heart flutters, like a bird that has just learned to fly has somehow made its way into her chest. 

Mercedes is on her knees, shrouded in soft moonlight with her eyes shut, and hands clasped. Her expression is serene, angelic, even, and Ingrid is captivated by the way her skin and hair light up in the dark. It’s as though Mercedes herself is a beacon of hope and light in the darkness. Her lips form silent words, and somehow, Ingrid knows that she’s praying for her, and for all of their classmates, for their safety. Mercedes is utterly compassionate like that, devoting her worry and hopeful intentions even to people who she does not know personally. It’s one of the many things Ingrid admires about her. 

Ingrid isn’t sure how long she stands there, silent, unable to tear her eyes away from Mercedes. She’s entranced by the sight, but before too long, her feet will her forward. Mercedes turns at the sound of her footfalls, and smiles up at her from her place on the cathedral floor. There’s something missing from it, then, a certain spark that has been snuffed out. Mercedes stands, brushing off her skirt and turning her body towards Ingrid.   
  


“Good evening. Are you here for the Goddess, or for me?” It’s become a bit of a running joke between them, to say that when choir practice or other school-oriented requirements bring them to the cathedral. 

“Both.” Ingrid responds mechanically, as she’s done each and every time Mercedes has asked her. “Mercie, I…” Her eyes flick away from the other woman. “I’m loath to admit it, but I’m actually scared. I shouldn’t be. I’ve trained to be a knight since I was able to hold a lance. The professor has helped us all so much. Yet… What if it isn’t enough?” Ingrid’s voice goes quiet. “What if  _ I’m  _ not enough?” She looks down at her hands, which are even more calloused than they used to be; a testament to just how hard she’s been working. 

And then, Mercedes’ soft hands are resting on top of hers. They gently squeeze Ingrid’s hands, and the sensation is warm, comforting. Ingrid lifts her gaze, and something in Mercedes’ eyes makes her heart clench. They’re so blue, so deep and full, as though the very sky was contained in the two silvery pools in front of her. The dim light catches off them, making little spots of brightness in them that reel in Ingrid’s focus like a fishing hook.

“Oh, Ingrid… You are so much more than enough. You are brave, and strong, and just, and I am so very proud of you.” Mercedes’ voice feels like a campfire after a cold day, warming Ingrid to her very core. “You’re allowed to be scared. I know you won’t let that fear stop you from doing what’s right, and that’s why you’re everything a knight should be.” Mercedes’ thumb rubs small, comforting circles into Ingrid’s palm. Ingrid can’t stop looking at her, can’t stop  _ admiring _ her. Here she is, in the dead of night, comforting someone in need after dedicatedly praying for the safety of those she cares for. She knows just what to say, just what to do. Ingrid catches her gaze again, and when Mercedes’ lips curve upwards into that gentle, sincere smile that Ingrid can’t stop thinking about, something in her snaps.

And then Ingrid is leaning forward, and pressing her lips to that smile. They’re softer than anything she’s felt in her life, and her hands squeeze gently, affectionately at Mercedes’. She stays like that for a moment, lost in the sensation of it all, the  _ warmth _ of kissing Mercedes. 

Ingrid’s eyes flutter open, and she pulls herself away from Mercedes. It’s agony for every moment that her body moves away, and eventually she’s standing some distance from the beautiful woman in front of her, abashed and awkward. 

“I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t- I should-” And then Ingrid is panicking, and runs. She sees Mercedes lift a hand towards her as she leaves, and it only makes it harder. What did she do? What did she  _ do? _

This was a mistake. This was one big mistake. Mercedes was just being a good friend. She was just being kind, and polite, and sweet. She was just being a friend. Nothing more. Ingrid had overstepped, she’d crossed the line, and now she was going to pay for it. 

That night, Ingrid makes it back to her room, locking herself inside, and throwing herself onto her bed. She doesn’t even slip beneath the covers, just screws her eyes shut and wishes she could disappear.

* * *

After that, things get hectic. Edelgard mounts an assault on Garreg Mach, driving out the Church of Seiros and pushing the respective houses back to their territories. Archbishop Rhea and Professor Byleth go missing. Ingrid is called to war, as the soldier she’s trained to become. She doesn’t see Mercedes for a long time.   
  
By the first year after Garreg Mach falls, Ingrid’s heart aches thinking of Mercedes. She wonders if the woman she loves is okay.   
  
By the second year, she’s adapted to the warfare, cutting her hair short and training even harder than normal to stay sharp, stay alive. She thinks of the Mercedes at night, as her days are occupied with fighting and strategy.   
  
By the third year, she hears tell of Mercedes traveling from battlefield to battlefield, helping those on all sides in need of healing. Ingrid’s heart sings at the prospect of her love being alive, but she doesn’t dare hope to meet her again soon.   
  
By the fourth year, Ingrid has lost track of how many battles she’s been in. Her body is a collection of scars and muscle, and she’s long forgotten the way Mercedes’ hands felt when she squeezed them. It’s a lonely feeling.   
  
By the fifth year, Ingrid is tired, so very, very tired.

And when she makes her way to Garreg Mach again, as she’d promised to with her classmates five years ago, the impossible happens. 

The Professor is alive. Dimitri is alive.  _ Mercedes is alive. _ During the battle, Ingrid can’t help but throw haphazard glances at Mercedes, and it almost makes her take an arrow to the shoulder. Felix yells at her to duck, and she does, just in time to feel it graze her arm instead of sink through it. After that, she focuses on the fight until things have calmed down.

After the battle, she doesn’t immediately seek out Mercedes, though as the day grows long with her reuniting and catching up with old friends, her heart aches to. The sun begins to set, and Ingrid turns her gaze across the horizon, at the cathedral, in all its twilit glory. Her feet move automatically towards it, boots clanking across the great stone bridge connecting it to the rest of the monastery.

When she steps into the cathedral, her head spins at the deja vu of it all. The lone inhabitant of the building is Mercedes, and when Ingrid moves closer, she turns at the noise. Mercedes smiles at her, that same, sweet smile. It’s so familiar, but it feels different somehow. More… genuine, almost. Ingrid smiles back at her, hands scratching at the back of her neck.

“Uh… Hi.” Great start, Ingrid. Her face flushes hot with embarrassment. “I… I’m glad you’re okay.” The statement only makes Mercedes smile even wider, and she nods.

“I’m glad you’re okay, too. I’ve missed you terribly.” 

“You… have?” Ingrid’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. So, Mercedes didn’t hate her. Probably. Mercedes giggles lightly, her hands coming up to shield her lips, just the way they always do. It’s endearing. 

“Of course, Ingrid. You’re very dear to me, you know.” Mercedes’ eyes glimmer with mischief, and Ingrid mentally braces herself for one of the older woman’s patented statements that are a little too true. “Though, I must say, I wasn’t expecting you to make the first move. You tend to be adorably skittish when it comes to matters of the heart.” And there it is. Ingrid feels her face heat again, and she combs her fingers through the soft hairs at the base of her scalp. 

“I… you… Are also. Very dear to me. I’d- I’d like to court you, Mercie.” The words leave Ingrid’s mouth before she can stop herself, and with a quick glance into Mercedes’ sky blue eyes, she knows Mercedes’ response before the words leave her lips.

“I’d love that.” Mercedes takes Ingrid’s hands, just like she did all those years ago, on the night before the invasion, and Ingrid stops thinking as Mercedes presses her lips to Ingrid’s, sweet and gentle and so,  _ so _ soft. She tastes distantly of honey, a delicate remnant of her favorite perfume. When she pulls away, Ingrid doesn’t run. Instead, she pulls Mercedes even closer, resting their foreheads together as the last drops of sunlight slip through the hole in the cathedral’s ceiling.

* * *

  
The next time Mercedes and Ingrid come together in a cathedral is over a full year later. The war is over. Fodlan is healing. So too are the people that fought to keep it safe, Mercedes and Ingrid included. Ingrid deftly slips a silver ring set with sapphire onto Mercedes’ ring finger, her hands trembling as she leans her head down and kisses it there, where it rests. Mercedes laughs brightly, and it is music to Ingrid’s ears. Mercedes returns the gesture by putting a matching ring onto Ingrid’s hand, and gently clasping their hands over one another. The metal of the rings quietly  _ clink _ s, and with it, they turn and face the new dawn together, eyes bright and full of hope and love for one another.


End file.
